


Stars in Your Eyes

by IGOM



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gratuitous use of Claude's real name, Non-Linear Narrative, all the bittersweet feels, end of life, no beta we play on classic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 22:07:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28838268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IGOM/pseuds/IGOM
Summary: If you could live the last day of your life knowing it was the last, how would it be spent?Claude requests his wife turn back time on his last day.
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 6
Kudos: 55





	Stars in Your Eyes

The sunlight pressed against his still-closed eyelids as Khalid awoke, and he took a deep breath, reaching for his earlobe as he had done for the last twenty some years, but today there was no cool metal under his fingers. Beside him, he felt the soft warmth of another body beside him, a lover's hand in his hair as he rubbed the fleshy bit between finger and thumb; he licked his lips. "Today is the day, huh?"

Eyes still shut, he heard the rustle of fabric as his wife settled closer, deeper into their bed. "Yes." At last he opened his eyes, and turned to look at his wife. He had gotten old, but she was still youthful, as gorgeous as he remembered on the day they met all those long years ago. His queen, his goddess, lover, friend, companion. He looked past her eyes, fixed on the copper ring in her earlobe, his earring. Byleth caressed his hair again. "Today, you'll die."

* * *

It was somewhere in the fourth year of their marriage that he first made the request. They had been in a village following small uprising in the southwest of Fodlan resting from the fight the day before; he'd taken a slight injury and slept in to recover, and woke in a strange bed when she came to check his bandages. "It was a reckless move, but it clinched the battle," he commented as she worked. She never said it, but Khalid always felt a slight sting of disappointment when he was injured.

"It had been worse," she replied as she examined the wound; just an arrow in his thigh, nothing too serious. "Healing clean. Bandages or magic?"

"Magic." If it was anyone else, he would have chosen the other to save the healers' strength, but he knew her well enough that she wouldn't have asked if her magic was needed elsewhere. Perhaps it was his imagination, but there was always something loving in the way she healed him. "So you turned back time." She nodded. "Did I-"

"No, just a broken leg." Always this blunt way of speaking when she told him the alternative injuries, matter-of-fact about the power she wielded with almost criminal casualness. "You're going to scar."

He waved a hand in the air. "What's one more?" Better than crutching around the palace for six weeks and delaying their trip to Almyra for the winter. Byleth sighed, and he watched her concentrate on spellweaving, a delicate sort of warmth emanating from her hand. Khalid felt a tickle as sinew and muscle mended. "Thank you, dearest."

"Be more careful next time." She settled into the bed beside him and Khalid allowed her to curl up against his back, understanding she needed the comfort of his still-living body after tending his wounds. "Let me know if you have any pain today."

He took one of her hands and kissed it. They lay there in that strange bed, quietly enjoying the feel of each other for a long time, until an odd thought crossed his mind. "Hey." She made a noise in response, burying her face against his back. "There will be a day when my death is inevitable, won't there?"

Byleth shifted, her arms tight around his chest. "Yes."

"Would you tell me? Like," he paused, licking his lips as he thought. "Turn back time and tell me so I know? If you're able to."

His heart beat painfully in his chest as they lay there, still and silent. She didn't answer for a long time, and then at last he felt a soft peck on the nape of his neck. "I'll consider it."

* * *

He propped himself up on his elbow, ignoring the aching joints old age had gifted him; in Almyra, being elderly was a gift in itself. "How much time do we have?"

She shook her head with a smile. "Already trying to break rules? You know that I'm not going to tell you that." Hands clapped twice, and a servant came in. "If you could let the kitchens know we're ready for breakfast now."

Khalid sat up as the servant retreated. Byleth reached out to help him stand; years of flying had stiffened his back and hips in his dotage, and while he could manage well enough when his wife was gone, he was not a man to refuse her help after all these years. Not today, especially.

Breakfast was brought, everything he loved about food; heavy, savory dishes that could almost put him right to sleep again. Byleth confirmed the plan as she watched him eat over her tea, slow and methodical in his enjoyment of his last breakfast on earth.

"Grandchildren first, then our children, and that should be the morning. Afternoon, if you're rested enough, I wanted to go into town."

A nod. "I'm already looking forward to a nap."

* * *

She brought it up again about a week after the incident. Back home in Almyra their first midday nap turned into midday lovemaking, and as they lay panting and sweating in the afterglow, Byleth made that lovely noise she did when she was especially satisfied. He laughed and leaned over to kiss her mouth, already missing the feeling of union. Child number two would come a short nine moons after; all their children had been conceived in their bed in the Almyran palace.

As they curled together, him clinging to her as she smoothed his hair, she spoke. "I've been thinking about your request."

Khalid closed his eyes, one ear against her chest. She breathed, in and out, slow as the tide. Others may have found her lacking heartbeat disturbing, but there was something calming about its absence to him; he could never quite figure out why. "Oh? Which request is that?"

"About you dying." Her fingers were gentle in his hair, on his shoulders. "You know it means I would see you die at least twice, right?"

When he had first said it he had not considered that and had blurted it out, but as the days wore on and she had not yet told him an answer he had the same thought. He pulled her closer in reply with a tender kiss on her collar. "I've seen you die before, of course."  
"If it will be too painful for you-"

She shushed him. "I'm not saying I'm not willing to do it, but we need to talk about what I can't do."

He kissed her. "Thank you."

* * *

In all, they agreed on seven rules. How far she had turned back time was rule two; only she knew for certain, and all Khalid knew was it was less than a day, as anything more and the strain on Byleth was too much. The first had been discussed that night: she would not turn back time on a death in battle, only if his body gave out from sickness or old age. "Gives me motivation to die an old man," he teased.

The fifth rule was the reason they walked to the royal nursery now, hands clasped together. Khalid made requests for his last day at her side, and his beloved wife determined which of his requests could be fulfilled, constrained only by rule three: nothing dangerous that could shorten his already short time left.

The royal nursery was filled to bursting with babies; Byleth had given birth five times, resulting in six babies, and their children had children of their own by the score, most of whom spent their days with the rapidly growing number of nannies and teachers hired to watch and educate them.

When the door opened to admit them, pandemonium erupted; a visit from their grandparents was always a welcome distraction, and soon they found themselves in a sea of chattering toddlers. He caught Byleth shrugging at the head nanny as he sat down on one of the low sofas and allowed himself to be mobbed. They all wanted his attention at once, and he laughed and did his best to attend to every conversation. 

After a time, a baby's cry distracted him from the crowd, and he watched as his wife took the sobbing babe in her arms; the newest addition to the nursery, six months old. Byleth settled into a sofa on the opposite side of the room, rocking the little one in a soothing rhythm. Her lips moved, but he couldn't hear the cooing he was sure she made. 

Carefully, he extracted himself from the crowd. "Go on, mind your teachers." Some disappointed sighs followed him, but Khalid was alone as he walked over to his wife and sat beside her. He smiled as the baby's face continued to scrunch. With each wail, he saw a flash of white just poking out from his little gums. "That's an angry cry."

"Teething," she murmured.

He slipped his hands under the baby and took him into his arms. The crying settled somewhat as eyes opened, still blue-black like an evening sky. "Hello, little one." It never failed to amaze him, the wonder of holding such a new life; so precious, so fragile. "I know, it hurts. If only we could be born fully formed and ready."

The baby caught hold of one of his wife's fingers, and she let him squeeze and flail it around. "He looks so much like his mother when she was this little, do you remember?"

"Yes."

* * *

The third birth had been the most harrowing. Compared to the births of their son Jeralt and their first daughter Fajr, both of whom had the courtesy of being birthed in the same day labor began, the birth of Hayat lasted two long days and nights in Fhirdiad; neither Byleth nor Khalid slept as the queen groaned and sobbed through her labor pains. "The worse the birth, the more well-behaved the baby," the midwife said on the second day, and he fervently hoped that was the case.

Despite the midwife's and the healer's protests, the second day he climbed into bed beside his sweating wife. Khalid could feel her exhaustion as her body quivered against his, and he pushed her soaked hair away from her forehead, hoping to bring some relief. "Listen to me, hey. Just a little more, and it'll be all over." Byleth cried out, clutching the sheets. "I know." _You can't die on me, my goddess_ , he thought as she cried out again, louder this time.

The moans changed suddenly, and she sat up, urgency writ large in her eyes. "This is it." Khalid pulled her against him again, their fingers tangled together. Her muscles strained, the midwife's voice soothing as Byleth screamed, her grip white-knuckled on his hands until the last push, and the welcome wail of a baby. She sagged back against him, grey with exhaustion. "Claude, I," her voice failed her; he would forgive her slip of that name this time.

She was half-asleep by the time the bundle was brought back to them, head lolling against his chest, but oh, how he loved her more than anything as she took their daughter into her arms, face full of wonder as she brought that new life to her breast to suckle for the first time. The baby's mouth worked, eyes limpid and full of trust; he supposed he looked like that once, too. "I admit, I was worried for you this time."

Her weight pressed against him. "This isn't the most exhausted I've been," her voice was soft and tired, but he could still hear the teasing undertone. 

Soon, Hayat's eyes closed, and she fell asleep for the first time in her life, little mouth still suckling the open air. An attendant carried her to the makeshift nursery next door; they would stay in Fhirdiad until midsummer for the baby. 

* * *

Hayat, now grown, provided them an escape with her arrival to feed the baby. The midwife had been correct; compared to the rest of their difficult and unruly crowd, she was the lone saint with all her patience and soft voice. Like all their children, she was dark haired like him but fairer, and only she had the stormy ocean eyes of Byleth before her merge with the progenitor god of Fodlan. "Baba, Mother," she kissed both of them on the cheek before taking the bundle from Khalid. "Unusual to see you in the nursery."

"Your father and one of his wild hairs," Byleth replied with her hand on his knee. Rule four: no one else knew that it was the last day of his life.

"Sometimes a man needs to be surrounded by his loved ones to feel alive." Hayat smiled at his comment, and then attended to the baby. He swallowed, hot and painful, watching her fuss over the child. "I love you, you know."

"Yes, Baba, I love you, too." A gurgle and a cry, and all her attention became fully fixed on the child. It was for the best; he felt his heart breaking at the thought that Hayat would never see him again.

They found a private alcove once they were free of the children, and Byleth squeezed his hand while he composed himself. "Last rule was always the cruelest."

He laughed; it felt good to do so. "I did it to myself." Number seven, the only one he insisted on: no moping. It was necessary, but difficult. "Well, who do you think? Jeralt and Aaliyah are busy preparing to leave today, aren't they?"

Her hand found his again, and they began to walk through the palace, still a bit aimless. "The twins are training this time of the day, and

I'm sure Fajr has a meeting."

"I'd like to see how the babies are getting on. So, training grounds."

* * *

Rule seven came about shortly after Jeralt abdicated and ran away from home. The oldest of their children, he had always been a bit too much like his grandfather and namesake, and wanderlust had taken him under her spell at a young age.

In public and with their daughters, Khalid laughed when someone asked him about the runaway prince. "Just a young man wanting to see the world, he'll be home soon enough."

In private, he sulked. More than once Byleth found him on their balcony, staring at the stars and muttering to himself after the boy's flight. "He's still a child, and he's out there not even the goddess knows where getting into all kinds of trouble or danger," he complained more than once as she joined him during those sleepless nights.

She always wore a patient smile when he was being a bit ridiculous. "He's twenty years old, Khalid. How old were you when you ran away from home?"

"That was different. I ran from one palace to another, not out in the wild world with nothing but my wits and a sword." She raised an eyebrow, and he sighed. "Why did he have to abdicate? What if he regrets his decision?"

"I would argue any court with the late Count Gloucester and Margrave Edmund is more dangerous than any bandit camp." He cracked a smile, even if it was brief. She reached for his hand. "You know that Jeralt was never really suited for the role. The rest of the Almyran court is breathing a bit easier at the thought of Fajr on the throne after you, and she's the one with the Crest besides."

"Which is why she was going to take your place on the throne in Fodlan, so you could focus on your holy duties. No one cares about Crests here." An old argument, one they had several times in the weeks following their son's flight.

"But it does make her a better fighter than the others." Why did she always have to be right? "I've got our allies in Fodlan keeping an ear out for our wayward son."

That was the first time he realized and truly understood that his wife was immortal, and that one day he would die. Already, he had streaks of silver and aches that he had not had in his youth, while she was still a mirror of the portrait that hung in Derdriu painted nearly fifteen years ago. Her mind thought differently because she had infinite time while he had to fight for every scrap of the precious stuff. He sighed again. "I suppose that's all we can do."

* * *

They found four of their children in the training grounds; two in the air, practicing feints on wyvernback, two on land observing. Aaliyah raced over when she saw them, throwing her arms around her father. "I thought we would miss you before we left."

He kissed her cheek. "What does an old man like me have to do that would prevent me from seeing my children before they go off to adventure, I wonder?" Khalid looked over; Jeralt watched his sisters play at fighting in the air. "Son."

A grunt. "Baba." His mother's stoic disposition, Khalid's desire to see the world for his own eyes, and a healthy dose of rebelliousness; such summed up Jeralt the Wandering Prince. Perhaps it was because they were the same in their desires and motivations that they had distinctly cooler relationship; more than once Khalid had apologized to his own mother for one of his youthful indiscretions after his own son had replicated the incident. "A man your age in the training grounds is an unusual sight."

"I came to see the twins at work." He looked skyward as he came to stand by his son. "I miss it sometimes, that freedom." Jeralt said nothing in reply. "Where are you off to this time?"

"East!" Where Aaliyah came across that energetic, bright personality was anyone's guess. "Fajr has a request for mercenaries from some eastern generals, so we're going with another troop." After Jeralt returned from his first escape from the palace, he'd taken his third sister to see the world with him, and Byleth commented that it was due to Aaliyah's influence that the two returned to the palace with any frequency.

"Not the regular troops, just mercenaries?" Byleth joined them after having been waylaid by a weapon master asking questions. She smiled at their soon. "Jeralt."

"Hello, Mother." At least he loved his mother enough to kiss her cheek; Khalid could tolerate their strained relationship as long as Jeralt treated Byleth with respect. "Babysitting the old man today?"

She laughed. "We're just spending the day together, that's all."

"They're landing," Aaliyah said suddenly, and they watched as the twins began a lazy descent into the training grounds.

* * *

Khalid's own father died in battle, "like a true Almyran king." He remembered how his mother, that brave, strong woman he'd loved more than anything, wept openly as they buried her husband. She'd clung to her son before the entire court, uncaring who saw or what they thought about it. Kings of Almyra were usually young; crowned young, died young. At twenty four, Khalid was practically a grandfather in terms of ascension, childless and unmarried.

After the funeral and the speeches and pomp, he found Mom in her room, lost in thought as she stared at the dwindling fire. Her hair looked like spun gold in the flickering light. Khalid took her hand, and she smiled at him and patted the back of his as it clung to her. "Tomorrow will be a difficult day for you. Go to bed."

"I'm fine." He squeezed her hand. "It doesn't quite feel real yet, does it?"

She flashed him a brief smile. "It's starting to. I think once you've won your crown, that's when it will feel that he's at rest." Mom leaned against him, and he put his arm around her. "You'll be just as good a king as he was, I'm sure of it."

Khalid said nothing, only kissed his mother's forehead as she began to cry again.

* * *

The twins landed in sync, a move they had practiced for weeks when they first learned to fly. The youngest, Bahija and Bahiya; only their family could tell them apart, and together they led the Royal Immortal Corps. Other twins might have resented being lumped together as if they were one person, but they had been inseparable since birth and still slept in the same bed at times. Even Khalid couldn't remember who had been born first.

"Baba," Bahija said first.

"Did you see? We finally got that trick with tossing the bow between us right," Bahiya said. They kissed his cheek, one after the other.

"Mother, is he okay to be out here in the heat?" Bahija was slightly more affectionate than her sister. "Last time he came to watch he had to be brought cool water and a fan."

Byleth smiled. "He's fine, we'll be going inside soon." More kisses, this time between mother and daughters; how he loved his children and their devotion to her. When he was gone, at least she would still have that love in her life. "And he's promised to actually sleep at midday."

Aaliyah gasped. "Our father, actually agreeing to take a rest? Are you ill, Baba?"

He laughed, more due to the infectious laughter of his daughters; even Jeralt cracked a smile. "I know my limits. It may have taken a lifetime, but I've learned to listen to reason when it comes from my pretty wife." He looked over them. "So, your sister is sending mercenaries east. What of the army?"

The twins shrugged in unison. "Mercenaries were asked for, but she had a meeting today to determine if the Immortals will fly, but that won't be for another week at least. If we do, Fajr will join us."

_What an inconvenient time to die._ If five of his children had to fight, how would they fare while grieving? "She didn't ask me?"

"Khalid," Byleth murmured, her voice soft. Right, rule six: no work today. "Perhaps we can catch her before the midday rest."

He nodded, and looked over his children, arms spread wide. Aaliyah first. "You and Jeralt keep each other safe, hrm?" 

"You don't have to say it every time we leave, you know."

He took his son next and kissed both his cheeks. "Come visit your mother more often."

"And you, Baba." They looked at each other, and Jeralt pulled him into a hug. "I love you."

"I love you, too." One last squeeze, and then he took the twins at once, one in each arm. "And I love you, Bahija," he kissed the woman on his left, "and you, Bahiya," the right.

They smiled. "Only Baba could glance and know who is who."

Bahiya giggled at her sister's comment. "Mother doesn't even need to look, though. Remember when you got in trouble just by your voice?"

A groan. "Yes, we all remember, because you don't let us forget."

* * *

He knew something of being in a war while grieving. Newly crowned after the challenge of kings, Khalid found himself tearing through the air at the head of his own Immortals, westward back to Fodlan. _Those damned Argathans_. The words on his lips were prayers to every god and goddess he knew of, supplications that he would make it to Derdriu in time.

Just barely. The holy royal army of Queen Byleth had already been a small force and now lay in tatters in the aftermath; if not for the Almyrans, all would have been lost in one violent fight. The queen, exhausted from the fight, had to be carried to bed. Every healer that could be spared from the injured surrounded her, and Khalid could only watch as they conferred amongst themselves. "Rest is what she needs more than anything. There are no outward injuries that need healing."

Three days later, she woke up with him asleep on a chair beside her bed, and her voice speaking his name awoke him. "How are you feeling?" He took her hand and kissed it, over and over again.

"Like hell." She smiled when he laughed. "I'm never doing that again."

"Fighting?"

She shook her head. "I pushed back time as far as I could so we could be ready. We're lucky it worked."

A knock on the door, and he walked to open it. "Bring a tray, something hot from the kitchens," he said before the attendant could speak. "Quickly, and fetch the healer. The queen's awake."

Once he sat back down, their hands found each other again. "How long?"

"A week and a half." A weak, rattling cough worried him. "It was exhausting to push back that far. I thought I could gather the army and march out of Derdriu in that time, but I was too sick from it to do anything. The message I got to you was the best I could do."

"I'm glad you did. I doubt even if you had met them on a better field of battle it would have mattered. How did they muster such a force, I wonder." But then he shook his head. "Let's not talk about that right now. I'm just glad you're safe."

She smiled, and grasped his hand with surprising strength. "Me, too."

* * *

If Fajr resented being queen of Almyra following her brother's abdication and flight, a word of it never passed out of her stern mouth. Of all their children after Jeralt, she was the most serious of them all, the oldest daughter who frequently took it upon herself to keep the other princesses in check. But if she had not wanted the role, she could have refused during the challenge of kings, and that was the only thing that kept him from feeling guilty about putting his daughter in such a position.

They caught her just as her meeting ended, a discussion about the eastern troubles. Her mouth twitched as her parents entered the conference room and when the last of the advisors bowed and left, she turned to look at them. "Here to meddle again, old man?"

He raised his hands in surrender. "Not at all, your Majesty. Can't a man come see his daughter now and again?"

Her head tilted, and she looked beyond him to her mother. "Is he telling the truth? Even now I can't tell when he's scheming." But then she smiled. "But he usually is unsuccessful in roping you into his meddling, so perhaps he is being honest."

"I don't pretend to know your father's mind even half the time, dear." She embraced her parents, Byleth first. "But we did hear that you might need to fly east with your sisters."

A sigh, and they began to walk through the palace to the family apartments; midday approached, a time when it was too hot to do anything but sleep. "I'll send the mercenaries on first, and Aaliyah will write to me the situation. I would hate to overreact to a little border dustup and make it something much more."

"And it would look better if the crown took a step back in case it goes foul?" He loved his talks with Fajr; his mind spun out stratagems by the score when they discussed politics of the day.

"Khalid," Byleth warned.

But Fajr was shaking her head. "Either way, fingers will get pointed. Hiring my brother and sister as mercenaries makes it look like we're involved regardless. If only he would take his troops back to Fodlan for awhile."

He scratched his head. "So why not just go yourself? Jeralt and Aaliyah are never wanting for work."

The queen's sharp stare directed itself at Byleth. "I asked you to tell him last night." A shrug, and Fajr sighed at her mother. "You're both acting so odd today. Why aren't you scheming, and why is Mother wearing your earring?"

Always so clever; gods above, was he proud of his heir. "Tell me what, Fajr?"

"She's with child again," Byleth murmured, a secret smile playing around her lips with a message; a surprise for him on this last day. "Grandchild sixteen."

He stopped, and pulled Fajr into a tight hug. "My sweet girl."

"It's not so great a thing." At least she smiled when they separated. "But it does make me reluctant to fight."

Khalid took her hand and walked close to her. "When I was a young man," he started.

"Not this, Baba." She pleaded with him, only half-serious.

"Indulge me, your Majesty. When I was a young man, and Byleth and I wandered all over Almyra and Fodlan as king and queen, working for peace, I always fretted when she was pregnant with one of you. One day, we were ambushed when she was seven months with you."

Fajr sighed. "How many times will you tell me this story?"

He patted her shoulder. "Just one last time, I promise. We fought off our attackers, and I was so worried that your mother would go into early labor and lose you, I borrowed a carriage for the rest of the trip."

"Stole. We never did give that carriage back to the Ordelias."

A gesture. "Borrowed, I had every intention of returning it to them." Byleth laughed. "Do you know what your mother said to me during that trip?" Now he had her attention; they had never told Fajr this part of the story. "I asked why she fought with so much abandon, despite being pregnant." This was true; Byleth had been vicious, rage fueling her every feint. Half their attackers fell from her onslaught alone. "She said it was because she was so worried about you that she fought so hard. While it might cause an early birth if she overextended herself, it would be certain that if she died, so would you."

The queen was silent as they walked on until they reached Khalid and Byleth's apartment. Fajr cleared her throat. "Thank you, Baba. You always give the best advice." On tiptoe, she kissed both his cheeks.

"If I can't give you advice, who can?" He put his hands on her cheeks and kissed her forehead. "I'm so proud of you, Fajr. I love you."  
Now she eyed him suspiciously again. "So very odd today. I love you, too."

* * *

He had never known fear quite like the first time he saw Fajr ascend the dais in the Almyran throne room. Dressed in swirling silks of pale blue and cream, she was lovelier than ever. Beside the throne Byleth stood, wearing white and holding a box inlaid with gold and mother-of-pearl.

The court dressed in their finest seemed to hold their breath as she turned to face them, and she looked over the crowd, careful not to linger on her sisters' faces. He himself stood in the center of the aisle, waiting. Her voice did not shake. "I am Fajr, second born of Khalid of the Burning Bow and Byleth the Jade Goddess. My brother Jeralt, firstborn of my siblings, now called the Wandering Prince, declared himself unwilling to take the crown of Almyra." She paused in a theatrical way. "Today, I intend to take the crown for myself. Does anyone wish to challenge my right to the throne?"

Silence. Khalid held his breath; anyone could challenge her to combat and secure the throne for themselves. He himself had fought contenders for two days until his right had been secured. She held the silence for a several heartbeats. "Father, do you challenge my claim?"

Ah, how it hurt to hear her address him so formally. "No. If you wish the throne, I yield it gladly." His mother had done this for him when he ascended, and now he climbed the steps. "Take your seat, Fajr, and your title: the Crescent Moon Queen."

No one moved until she was seated on the throne. Byleth walked forward, and he opened the box. Such a delicate crown for his fierce daughter, but still he took it in his hands and turned to her. "Long live the Queen of Almyra." The court chanted after him as he placed the crown on his daughter's brow, and he smiled at her as she closed her eyes. "You're doing fine, my darling."

Her eyes opened again, and she smiled a little. "Thank you, Baba." With a nod that she was composed, he stepped aside and allowed the court the first look at their queen.

* * *

"Why are we here again?" They had napped at midday with the rest of the palace; Byleth's warmth beside him never failed to put him right to sleep. Now they wandered into town to the marketplace.

She smiled. "It reminds me of Tiana." His sweet wife, always so thoughtful, but he supposed she had a lifetime to figure out how to make this day special.

The market had been different when he was a boy with only Almyrans peddling Almyran goods. Now every language of every one of his homeland's former enemies could be heard in the bedlam of the streets bursting with stalls, more proof of his youthful dream of the walls between peoples being torn down. Dusk settled over them for the evening market, his grip tight on his beloved's hand as they wandered. They were a familiar sight in the market, and Khalid felt especially generous today. "Anything you want, let's buy it."

She laughed and leaned against him, conspiratorial. "Eat whatever we like, the children aren't here to fuss."

"Or beg for ours when they've finished theirs." They had long grown out of that habit, but still she laughed. Soon they were eating their way through the market, sweets pastries, spiced nuts, three different skewers; he felt decidedly young again as people stared at their former king gorging himself with abandon.

Whatever she stopped to look at, he purchased without much haggling on the price, and soon they had pockets full of little treasures, presents for the children and grandchildren; combs made of silver and fragrant woods from Brigid, silk scarves and sashes, hair pins in the Fodlan style, a small gold-handled dagger that disappeared into the folds of Byleth's skirt, little wooden toys for the babies, a new calfskin journal for Jeralt for his journey.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" She murmured as he examined an enamel cloak pin, an eastern design shaped like a white lily.

"I'm with you." Coins changed hands, and presented it to her with a kiss. "Of course I am."

* * *

Their wedding did the most impossible of tasks; a union of old enemies, peace between nations long at war. But it also did one more thing that Khalid always considered more impossible and more unlikely than friendship between Almyra and Fodlan: it brought Tiana von Riegan across the mountains once again.

They landed at the Riegan palace about midday, and he helped his mother dismount, her eyes focused everywhere but the safety of the ground. "Hasn't changed much since I left, at least on the outside."

Stablehands swarmed to remove tack and tether his wyvern, so he patted her snout and they started walking. "Probably hasn't changed much on the inside, either."

"Still all those stuffy paintings of the vaunted Duke Riegans of old hanging up, tapestries from when they were still technically part of the Blaiddyd line, all that nonsense?" She poked his shoulder. "You disappoint me, Khalid. Five years you were duke and you moved nothing?"

He held up his hands in surrender, laughing. "I had more important things to think about than decorations."

"I should send your beloved some Almyran tapestries, yes? Fill the halls with the exploits of your other relatives." They were guided toward the family wing of the palace; the queen would meet them in a private sitting room there.

"I'm sure Byleth would like that."

Mom laughed. "I would hope so, since she's marrying you." He felt her looking at him. "Does she speak Almyran?"

He shook his head. "She's learning."

"So, you've taught her all the curses."

"Of course, she picked those up in the war." Those words did sound delicious rolling off her tongue as they made love, slipping out between kisses and groans; not that he would ever tell his mother anything like that. "Hello, goodbye, she can count to one hundred."

"I see." He glanced at his mother; she had a melancholic smile, the same one she'd been wearing whenever she thought about his father.

Byleth met them in the sitting room, dressed in her daily informal wear. No crown, none of that heavy jewelry of the goddess-on-earth; just a nervous young woman meeting her future mother-in-law. A tea tray had been left, full of cakes. He kissed her, chaste and quick. "Mom, this is Byleth Eisner, queen of the united Fodlan, the progenitor god reborn, called-"

"Yes, yes, we get the point." Mom's eyes glimmered with amusement despite her tone. "So you're the woman who captured my son."

She nodded. "And you're the woman who gave birth to that impossible man I love."

His mother blinked, and then laughed in a way he had not heard since the shroud had been laid over Baba's face the day his body returned to the capital. "I've heard they call you the Ashen Demon. Since I'm the Demon Queen, I suppose that means we have something in common besides my son."

They sat down together, and he felt his heart flutter as Mom took Byleth's hands. "I'm sure we can find more."

Mom looked over at him, still standing, unsure who he should sit next to. "Khalid, go find something to do. I'd like to talk to Byleth in private." Now it was his turn to blink away his surprise, and she raised an eyebrow. "Go to the market or whatever." He didn't move. "Do you need allowance or something?"

"Allowance?" His mother never failed to make him feel five years old. Byleth hid a smile behind her hand. "I'm a king, not-oh, never mind. Yes, lady mother, I would be glad to give you and my dearest love some time to get acquainted."

"Brat," his mother called after him, and the last thing he heard was Byleth's giggle as he shut the door behind him.

* * *

The sky, dusted with pinks and oranges, settled over them that last evening. How many evenings had they spent on this balcony on this bench, holding hands and watching day turn into night? _Not enough._ His beloved wife's head rested on his chest, just under his chin. "When you met Mom, what did she say to you after she kicked me out?"

A contented sigh preceded her reply. "She wanted to make sure I knew how to say 'I love you' in Almyran. Your father was quite a romantic and that was the first thing he taught her."

"Oh." He laughed. "She was an odd one."

She nodded. "But great."

"I was glad that you two got along so well." When he had finally been allowed admittance again to their summit, he found the tea had been taken away and a bottle of spirits replaced it; the two queens were more than a little tipsy as they giggled and joked all through supper. For the rest of her life, Tiana von Riegan could be found in the same place as her daughter-in-law, the queen's most steadfast confidant and advisor.

He knew her to be smiling. "I miss her."

So much loss in her life; Byleth would see all she loved die eventually, except perhaps the two saints. "How much longer?"

"Some time still." She sat up to look at his face. "I need to tell you something, a secret."

A peck on her cheek. "One last secret for the road?"

"I'm being serious, Khalid." Her fingers traced the lines of his face, as if memorizing as much as she could; not far off now. "You asked me to turn back time on the day you died, and I did, but," she paused, as if the words were difficult to say. He forced himself to let go of a breath. "I didn't just do it once." Her smile was shy. "All your requests were fulfilled. I'm sorry you can't remember all of it."

Oh, his clever wife; he couldn't help but laugh. "How many times?"

"I lost count." When had her powers grown so strong? "But this is the last."

"Even the dangerous ones?"

"Even the wyvern riding."

"Lovemaking?"

She all but purred, and she kissed his mouth, lingering. "Several times."

"But not this time." He felt a pang of regret; at least she had the memory of it.

"It shortens your life. I wanted to give you as much time as possible." She buried herself into him again, nose nuzzling against his collarbone. Her voice was soft. "Tonight, you'll die with stars in your eyes."

He looked at the horizon; the sun was nearly set now. "Byleth?"

"Yes?"

"Do I say the same thing every time?"

"At the end?" He nodded. "Yes."

Khalid cleared his throat, and tilted her head up to kiss her one last time. He whispered to her, she smiled and leaned against him, one hand caressing the nape of his neck.

* * *

Byleth held his hand until it grew stiff and cold; she'd eased the worst of the pain of death, but even a goddess' powers couldn't stop the inevitable. His eyes stayed open, reflecting the night sky he had always loved. She kissed Khalid's temple, already waxy from the absence of life. Exhausted, she had pushed the limits of her powers as far as she could; selfish perhaps, but she wouldn't regret it for the world.

She stood up, wiped her eyes, and walked through their apartment to the door. A guard was there, looking startled at the appearance of the queen. "Fetch someone to collect my children, please, and some attendants as well. The king father has passed."


End file.
